Broken Toys, New Doll
by SpikedRodent
Summary: The effects of the digitizer wear off years later, bringing Quackerjack back to his normal self. However, how will the toymaker react to his beloved having moved on and spawned a child of her own? This story is a darker version of the comic/cartoon. Reader discretion: there will be brutal torture towards the family and will be my first attempt in years towards this tone. Enjoy
1. Chapter 1

**Chapter 1**

QuackerJack

The mind is fragile, easily manipulated by those who were ahead of everyone else. Inventors and companies alike were always planning, constructing, able to bring forth something new to draw the simple-minded flock with their musty cash grabs. Always feeding the public entertainment through virtual violence, appealing to the younger group by choke holding them into popularity contests amongst their peers. "I got the latest Whiffle Boy console. You aren't cool till you've got one. Jump ropes and hoola-hoops? Those are for the lame." How disgusting it is to live in a world where individuality is shunned and following is the newly accepted ideology of brain rotting television games.

Gone are the simpler days, with mind numbing excuses of wired entertainment left to stand in their place. At least that's what Quackerjack thought. The tiny doll, that had once been the flamboyant toymaker, sat on a shelf in a quiet storage room gathering dust. It had been almost a decade since he'd zapped himself into a doll with the digitizer, the very same machine he'd used on many civilians of St. Canard. His own self demise was an apology to his beloved girlfriend Claire for his behavior, not that he regretted hurting anyone. "They deserved it. All they ever did was warp everyone into becoming addicted to their train wreck excuse for amusement! My toys were forward and did what they were supposed to, no gimmicks", he thought as his gaze remained permanently forward towards one of the building's cracked cement walls.

"One day folks will thank me" he supposed, a tingling sensation around his doll body. An odd feeling for Quackerjack, as he'd never felt anything physical since he became a toy. The odd pulsating warmth in him had been resonating in the tiny figurine's chest for weeks, but only now was he feeling it so intensely. Then there was only pain, hot and tearing at his fabric. It was as if every stitch that mad up his current being was being torched. The intensity of Quackerjack's agony caused him to believe that he was dying as his surroundings turned a blinding white! "Who knew dolls could kick the can", he mused as he felt the feeling fade. Maybe he was gone and he'd go to the great toy land above. A loud crash and a sudden gasp was all he heard before the world became dark and still.

When morning arrived so did his vision, the dim haze of the sun's light faintly illuminating his side of the storage room. Something normal for him, as being a doll meant one had no eyelids. Dreams would fade him in and out of reality whenever, what he assumed was his soul, craved to rest. They always ranged from reliving an old memory of him partaking in villainy with the Fearsome Five or spending time with the woman he missed so dear. However, something wasn't quite right to Quackerjack. The tingling sensation was gone but the mallard remembered he'd been on the shelf and not on the ground. "Not that I can do anything about it" came a loud and disoriented voice, making his insides jump! He hadn't heard anyone enter, much less recognize that voice he heard just now. Not that he could focus on that for too long, there was an odd itch in his eye. It was when the world went dark for a brief second and his eyes were met with relief that he realized what was going on.

The mallard's body gave an odd flop, something akin to a jump of shock but half-hearted like a ragdoll. "I'm alive. . .", he managed to mumble as he slowly sat himself up, still unaccustomed to the returning sensation in his body. Quackerjack attempted to touch his face with his hands, failing the first time by missing and the second from nearly loosing his balance. The third time, however, he was able to press his gloved hand to his bill. The rubber slowly dragging its cold texture across his warm skin. Something like a garbled laugh escaped him, it would take him some getting used to before he'd feel he was truly back, but he couldn't wait. "Wait till she sees me now I bet she'll be so happy!"


	2. Chapter 2

**Author's Note:** Hello there! It's been a while hasn't it? I'm sorry for taking so long with this, I've been under a lot of pressure when it comes to school assignments. I have the full story in mind, but please bear with me as updates will be slow. Chapter 3 is currently in the works as this posts and hopefully I can have a steady upload schedule, possibly Wednesdays or Thursdays? Thank you for your patience and I hope to see you all at the next chapter! ;w;

 **Chapter 2**

Nathaniel Hawkthorne

Child banter could be heard upstairs as Nathaniel worked in his study. The gull had a controversial article to finish by tomorrow or his editor would have his neck. Not that this was out of the ordinary. Hawkthorne was a natural at procrastination and worked relatively well under stress. Always working on his paper last minute as he found no need to panic. He'd read up plenty on the topic prior and had his outline finished. The article practically wrote itself.

"Five paragraphs to go," he thought as he typed away on his desktop. Feathered digits dancing about their keyboard stage as they presented their master's thoughts. This week he was to tackle how the wealthy corporations of today were causing an increase of mutants and supervillains to emerge. Nathaniel would be covering incidents from the allowed self-experimentation of Dr. Reginald, now known as Bushroot, to the lack of investigations of ignored missing or murdered people like the infamous Scapellis. It was a difficult topic in itself as most looked to vigilantes to clean the messes up, but Nathaniel wasn't one to shy away from political scuffles.

"Not like we deserve the whiplash. They're the ones pulling the rich man shortcuts", the gull sighed as he stretched his arms upward, giving a small humph as he let himself slump in his wheeled desk chair. The movement caused it to turn slightly, facing him towards a frame on his work desk. Sitting himself up he tenderly took hold of it before rubbing some dust from the chromed plastic frame with his thumb. Frozen in time was the smile of the writer. Beside him was a fair, red haired hen. She was beautiful, as far as most ducks were, but that wasn't why Nathaniel had fallen for her. No, it took more than appearance to catch his fancy.

She was kind and forgiving, always putting others before her to get the job done. "Oh, Claire. . .", he mused as his gaze trailed to the tiny duckling in her arms. "None of you deserve this."

Sitting himself up, the gull put the frame back on his desk before looking up at the ceiling with a sigh. Nathaniel's gaze began to fog as his eyes watered. "If only I could save up for us to move. I'd do it in a heartbeat. But every time I'm close one of these tortured souls shows up for vengeance and gets us caught up in the process."

Many times, as they'd gone grocery shopping, Nathaniel or Claire would get caught in the line. Even now, their car was no longer the same one they'd stared with as it and the previous three had been totaled by the havoc brought upon the city. Insurance companies refused to cover it to keep their pockets wealthy and drained the victims of what they had. With a huff the gull irritatingly wiped at his tears. It didn't do him any good to cry he supposed as he began to print his finished work. All it did was waste time, something that everyone was limited with. Packing the article away into his work pouch, he wondered how much time he had left. "If I know better, it's probably another forty or fifty years", plenty of time to see his tiny duckling grow and have a few of her own. . . Well, if she so pleased.

Leaving his workroom, Nathaniel entered the kitchen to his wife. Claire was cooking at the stove. Giving a tender smile made his way over and planted a small peck on her cheek. To this she jumped catching her husband off guard as his steps were heavy making him easy to identify throughout the house.

"Claire. . . Is everything alright, Darling?", he asked as he peeped over her shoulder. The hen was still as stunning as the day he'd met her, but today she looked different. Panic stained her gaze as she forced a small grin. "I'm fine, it's just. . .", she started before tugging at the sleeve of her t-shirt. "I can't shake this feeling." "What feeling, Love?", the gull asked as he stared at her in bewilderment. "That something's wrong," she muttered. "Ever since Georgiana found the doll-", "The memento?", he interrupted as he gently tugged Claire to face him.

"My sweet, what you see as an omen from the past might be nothing. We've discussed this, it's why we put him in the storage house. So little Georgie found Quackerjack's banana doll while you were gathering items for storage?" Just as he'd done so with the image on his desk he gently placed his hand on her cheek, running his thumb through her plumage. Claire gave a small sigh in return as she placed her hand over his, eyes glowing brightly but still distant in worry.

"You know I've already checked the doll multiple times as a precaution. It's safe." Nathaniel gave her a gentle squeeze before pecking her bill. The hen opened her bill to say something, but instead began to sniff the air. A light smoke filled the air as her family meal had been left alone for too long. A small chuckle escaped the gull as Clair frantically turned back around to save it. "Oh sweet, Claire", he mused as he made his way to the front of the house before his own thoughts were interrupted. There was a knock at the door. "I've got it, Darling", he shouted as he continued to the source, "Must be the postman with a parcel."

The door opened as childish banter could be heard, "Hello and who are you?"~


End file.
